Night Changes
by Covinsky
Summary: One night. One choice. Three people. Three heartbreaks. (Lucaya/Joshaya)
1. Lucas

"Go be with her," Riley had told you years ago now, her dark eyes shining with tears and with hope, her soft hand cupping your cheek. You promised you would, because no matter how crazy it might sound, you knew it would be the only thing to make up for all this, for all the feelings you'd been harbouring for a while now.

You cried sorry tears before you said goodbye, because you used to think you'd be Riley and Lucas forever, too.

You went to her place straight from Riley's, after saying your goodbyes. You jumped out the bay window, hopped in the midnight blue pick up truck she pretends to hate, and floored it to her part of the city. Taking three steps at time, you were halfway up the rickety fire escape that you're always scared shitless she's going to fall off of one night when she sneaks out when you hear her voice talking in that sweet teasing way you thought was just for you.

"Goodnight, for real this time!"

"One more kiss!"

"No—Josh, I have to go to sleep. Chill, we have all summer." You can hear her smiling and it's like a point blank gunshot to your heart.

You knew her voice anywhere but you hoped to God that you had the wrong building, the wrong window, the wrong girl. You looked up, and you saw a flash of her golden blonde hair, a flash of her adorable cow pyjamas and you knew you were right because of course you were. You see him too, with his stupid beanie and his stupid leather jacket, stealing one more stupid kiss before letting her shut the window behind him.

You hightail it out of there, before Josh can see you. You get into the midnight blue pick up truck she pretends to hate, and you don't dare drive away because he'll see you. You shrink down into the driver's seat like the coward you are, waiting for him to leave. But he doesn't leave. He stands outside her building and you watch him from the sideview mirror.

He's just standing there, with his hands in his pockets, looking up at her window. You look up too—she's still there, her little face pressed against the glass, like a beautiful mermaid in an aquarium tank. He waves and laughs and blows kisses and finally leaves.

You could have left after that. But she's still at her window, her little face pressed against the glass. After a while she turns the light off and goes to bed, and you watched her still. You watched the little black square of her window with a tiny moon reflected on it all night and cried until you thought you were really going to be sick, like you haven't cried since Pappy Joe died.

Then you went the only place you could think of, you went back to Riley's and you cried some more but she didn't shed a tear this time, not one. She told you that you would just have to be patient and then she gave you a cookie like you were fucking five and watched Friday Night Lights with you while you whined and wanted to know why. You hated yourself for not loving Riley like you loved her, because Riley was so much easier.

That was years ago now and she's still his and not yours. A month before graduation you mustered up the courage to really ask Riley why for the first time in almost a year, because you loved her best friend and you knew she loved you too. She had told Riley that you chose Riley three years ago and that still hurt more than you'll ever know and that you waited too long and that she's happy now and why can't you let her be happy?

Why can't you fucking let her be happy?

Today, years later, you watch her marry him, watch her become a Matthews. Riley cries—out of happiness this time. So do all of them: Farkle, Zay (he pretends not to), her parents, his parents, Cory, Topanga, Auggie, even Smackle. She doesn't cry at all and in high school that would have given you hope but the magical smile on her face cancels it all out and you know that she's happy and you've got to let her be happy this time.

You cry too, but not now. Later, after the ceremony and the party. After you've wished the happy couple a congratulations that couldn't sound sincere if you tried (you didn't try), wondering why you were even invited, why you even came. You cry in your big bed, cold and alone in your part of the city, trying to remember a time or picture a world where you are happy together.


	2. Maya

"I know I'm three years late" is what Joshua Matthews opened with years ago when he came through your window like a thief in the night, on the night that changed your life forever.

You listened obediently for the next thirty minutes while he made his case, and you were shocked and horrified and delighted at the words spilling out of the mouth you've wanted to kiss since you were thirteen.

"It wasn't right then, Maya, but it's right now, don't you see?"

 _Did_ you see?

 _Was_ it right now?

You thought about your cowboy, who you knew was at Riley's place right now and you had to stop thinking about as your cowboy because he was hers and not yours, not yours even a little.

Is it possible to love two people at once?

"I see," is what you said back, and you meant it.

Josh smiled so wide you thought his beautiful face was going to split in half so you had to stop him so you kissed him, you kissed him in your ugly cow pyjamas at 11pm on the first night of your last summer alone.

And maybe it was the kiss, or maybe it was his half-hour-long confession of love, or maybe it was his long fingers in your tangled hair, or maybe it was the soft shadow of a dimple on his cheek—but you felt something you haven't felt since that night four years ago, in a far away place with a million stars in the sky.

Is it possible to love two people at once? You hoped so.

You had to go to sleep now, you told Josh. He protested but you finally got him out, but not before he stole one last kiss. You looked out your window as he climbed down the fire escape, and then you saw him and you wished so hard for a time machine.

You saw the midnight blue pick up truck you pretended to hate parked outside your building and you knew he was here for you and you knew why, because suddenly you knew he loved you too and that he was yours even if he was hers and it made your heart so heavy because yes, Josh was three years late but Lucas Friar was a lifetime late.

You watched Josh wave and blow you kisses before he finally left and Lucas stayed hidden, stayed watching you like you were his favourite sad film.

You watched him watch you from the midnight pick up blue truck you pretended to hate and even when you turned the lights off and pretended to go to sleep he watched you and you knew he was crying.

You willed him to make his way up the rickety fire escape he always told you he was scared shitless you'd fall off of one night, you willed him to make his way to you and kiss you and tell you the words you've been wanting—no _needing_ —to hear for years now.

You willed for him to come and he did not, so you finally went to sleep because you were so fucking _tired_.

When you first closed your eyes you thought about the college guy you've had a crush on for years, the one you just kissed, the Matthews with a gravelly voice that left you tingling.

But when you dreamt, you dreamt about the tall and handsome cowboy from Texas who brought a harmonica to school just for you, who held your face like he was going to kiss it under the southern sky, with eyes like a fairytale forest floor and a tenderness in his voice that turned your bones to butter.

The cowboy that did not come to your window, not even when you willed him to with all your heart.

xxx

"Why?" Riley asked you later on. Why did you pick Josh and not Lucas? The Huckleberry she knew and he knew and everyone knew you loved since he moment he walked into your life?

"Because he chose you three years ago and that still hurts more than he'll ever know and he waited too long and I'm happy now."

Why can't he let you be happy?

xxx

That was years ago and you are someone else's now. Did that mean you weren't his anymore? Is it possible to love two people at once, even now?

You invite him to the happiest day of your life because you are still his friend no matter what he says and you want him there. Everyone cries. Josh cries, Riley cries, Farkle, Zay (he pretends not to), your parents, his parents, Cory, Topanga, even Smackle. You do not have the courage to look at Lucas and see if he cries too. You don't cry at all, you don't shed a tear this time and you don't know why because you really are so happy to be a bride.

Before he leaves, he wishes you a congratulations your whole heart knows he doesn't mean, because his eyes, his eyes they are cold and green and like glass. Where is your cowboy? Where is his heart?

You soundlessly cry hot, stupid tears in your wedding bed later that night, with your sleeping love's hand tucked gently and perfectly in yours. You are happy, truly happy, but you feel in your soul that somewhere, in his part of the city, Lucas is crying too, so you cannot help but weep.

Is it possible to love two people at once?


	3. Josh

You're standing at the bottom of her building, at the foot of the rickety fire escape you have to admit you're scared shitless to climb up on (but you have to, because there's _no_ _way_ you're facing Shawn at the front door).

You look up: her bedroom light is on, and if you step back you can see her back pressed up against the window as she sketches. She's wearing your favourite cow pyjamas, the ones she wore last month when you were both staying at the Matthews' place — the night you realised you had to _do_ something because you were already three years late and you weren't going to let them turn into four.

 _It's now or never_ , you think to yourself as you climb up to her window, your bones shaking so very uncoolly, so very unlike you. You tap on the window three times— _knock, knock, knock_ —quickly, like a secret passcode. She turns, and if you were a more perceptive guy, a guy who wasn't readying himself for a confession of love(?), maybe you would have noticed right away the crestfallen look on her face when she realised it was you, it was you, it was Joshua Matthews at her window and not him, not the other one, _not the one she wanted._

It only settled on her face for a moment, but it's a look that haunts you later for years; it's a disappointment you can never pinpoint, never exile, never kiss away.

But you don't care about that, not now. Those are thoughts for later. Right now, she opens up her window and you sneak in, like a thief in the night ready to steal her heart (you hope).

"I know I'm three years late," is what you open with, standing in the middle of a cluttered artist's bedroom while she sits on her bed, staring at you, mesmerized, captivated, and maybe a little confused.

"It wasn't right then, Maya, but it's right now, don't you see?" you ask her, you beg of her. _Please see, please see me. I know I'm three years late but please see me now._

She's staring at you, and your blues meet her even bluers in a way that makes your heart skip like a broken record. Unlike you, she's not scared at all, and what does that mean?

But you can't waste anymore time reading her face (because you could do that forever—her face was your favorite book). You have to say what you've been thinking for a while now, so you do. They are not words for sharing because they are sacred and special and they belong to you and her and no one else (but know this: they are enough to make her smile, laugh, and finally, after 30 long minutes, stand up and kiss you).

The feel of her lips finally on yours tickles your soul, and you want more but you both know you can't have more, not now, so she breaks away. It's like being kidnapped from divine paradise—but it's okay, you realise, because she's still in front of you, your hands are still in her hair, that smile is still on her face.

She tells you she has to go to sleep now and you protest because you want longer with her, you haven't had enough.

"Chill, we have all summer," is what she says to reassure you and it does, because _you have all summer_. A whole season just for the two of you – you can already taste the strawberry ice cream on her lips, feel the seasonal sunshine on your face as you walk hand in hand down the New York City streets.

After that, she finally gets you out (after you steal one last kiss). Your last thought as you climb out her window is that you hope she dreams of you.

You make your way down the fire escape, shaking as if coming down from a sugar high, but then you look up to her window one last time and it's not enough. You stand there for you don't know how long, waving and blowing kisses at her, while her face is pressed up against the window like a beautiful mermaid in an aquarium tank.

You want to write a million songs for her (not counting the four you already have).

You finally turn to go, and then you see him. You see him, hunched over in his midnight blue pick up truck, the one she pretends to hate, watching her from the shadows. You know she's watching him too. You could ask yourself: what the hell is he doing here? But you don't need to, because you know it's the same reason as you.

You keep walking away, and you feel like a coward and a fraud because if you felt for her what you said you did, you'd go back there and rap on his car window and tell him where to go. But you don't, because that's not you, that's not what she wants, and you have to let her decide. So you walk back to your brother's home in the dark—with an ache in your chest, uncertainty cruelly tapping a silver hammer against your heart—hoping she picks you.

 _Sweet dreams, Maya._

xxx

She didn't pick him.

She picked you.

You don't ask why because you're afraid to know.

xxx

You write songs for her, she paints paintings for you. You talk, you laugh, you kiss. It works and you are so happy and she is so happy.

xxx

You sometimes wonder why she picked you and not him like everyone secretly thinks she should have, like everyone thinks she secretly _did_. They are dark, mean thoughts that infiltrate your mind and keep the pages of your journal filled with sharp, black words.

xxx

That was years ago now and in front of God and in front of your friends and family she finally becomes yours today.

It's the happiest day of your life, and everyone you love is there but he's there too. He sits in the corner, and you catch her meeting his gaze twice: once as you are leaving the chapel, your hands interlocked in holy matrimony; the second on the dance floor, as you are dancing your first dance as man and wife. She doesn't dare look at him any more than that, and she thinks she is being careful.

But you don't need to worry anymore, because you are all so much older now, and she's your wife and you don't need to worry anymore because she chose you, didn't she? (How could you be so foolish?)

He leaves early, offering you and your wife a half-assed congratulations he could not possibly mean. You glance at her, and she looks lost, her eyes—her eyes—they are sad and blue and searching. _Where is your artist? Where is her heart?_

You feel relieved when you see him go, and go back to drinking in the vision of your wife in white and gold.

xxx

You hear her crying in your wedding bed later that night, and she thinks you can't hear her, she thinks you aren't attuned to the slightest shift of her emotions and she's wrong on both fronts. You don't need to wonder what she's crying about because you know, of course you know (hint: it's not a what but a _who_ ).

You are sharing a bed, only mere inches separate you, you are naked, you are holding hands...but she is still so far away, she is somewhere else, she is years away.

You're hers, you're hers, _unquestionably_ you are hers. Why can't she let herself be yours? _Why won't she let him go_?


End file.
